


Ori'skraan

by seascribble



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Domestic, Food, Frogs, Gen, Translation Available, parenting, some diaspora feels, space infant development
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:28:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22686268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seascribble/pseuds/seascribble
Summary: Din realizes that ration bars aren't a suitable diet for the little one. The little one worries about what his dad eats too.
Relationships: Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Comments: 45
Kudos: 396





	Ori'skraan

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a Mando'a word meaning either "a delicacy, a real treat in terms of food" or "a blow-out meal, a feast (slang), 'big eats.'"
> 
> Thanks to Inlovewithnight and KB for the encouragement, as usual.

Din thinks about giving the child a name. He has a few in mind, idle remnants from a young man’s fantasies of taking the _riduurak_ , joining himself in union with another, and needing names for the warriors they would raise. But none of them fit quite right, the way those fantasies no longer quite fit him. He does not think there will be a _riduur_ in his future. But then, he has long thought there would be no _ik'aad_ either, and here he is with the tiny sleeping weight of his own boy in his arms. Someday, that boy will need a name, but for now, he seems content to answer to _ad’ika_. Din isn’t sure he understands that word—or any others—but the endearment feels right on his lips. Others do not come so easily. _Buir_ , Din tries to say, and it locks up his throat. The little one continues to speak in gurgles and coos and doesn’t seem to feel any lack for having no name to call his father.

In this and in myriad other ways, Din knows he has been falling short as a parent, despite the light in the child’s eyes never wavering when he looks at him. He must do better. The child must be cared for, must know he is cared for. This is the Way.

Since Navarro, they have lived off of crumbled ration bars and questionable electrolyte fluidpacs. Barely fit for Din’s own nourishment, let alone a growing child’s. This is the first thing that must change. They will have to make port at some population centre and see how far Din’s meagre credits will stretch. He might be able to barter services as a bodyguard for more, if he can find somewhere safe to leave the kid. That thought makes his chest feel tight, as though the beskar is contracting around him. The child has barely been out of his arms since they hit the black above Navarro, even to sleep. He cries when Din is out of sight and clings when Din tries to put him down in his own little compartment. Din hasn’t pushed it. 

The little one smacks his lips in his sleep, suckling as though at a bottle, and Din punches in the shortest course to a market planet. With any luck, the child will only have to endure one more meal of crumbs. Din strokes his small son’s chin and makes another silent promise that he will do better. He holds the child close until they touch down.

In the market, the child is distracted by the noises and sounds, enough to suffer being put down to toddle on his own at Din’s heels from stall to stall. At each one, Din sees more things that the little one probably needs—toys, clothing, a hundred ointments, salves, and sundry devices—but his credits are barely enough to stock the ship’s larder. 

He figures the kid needs vegetables and meat the most and that preserved is better than none at all, so he spends the bulk on that, rounding out the edges with fruit, energy gels, and tack. He wishes he had any way to prepare _uj'alayi_ or _tiingilar_ for the kid. That makes him think of sitting alongside the other foundlings in the mess, before he'd sworn the Creed, Paz laughing at him as his nose and eyes streamed from his first bite of _tiingilar_. His heart feels tender at the thought that the little one might never know the comfort of sharing a meal amongst his tribe, might not learn the taste of nor even the words for the food and drink that form a cornerstone of Din's concept of _home_. 

Behind him, the kid cackles in delight and Din whips around to see him in front of a stand that appears to be selling pets, focusing intently on lifting something with a dozen curling tentacles out of a tank. He isn't touching it. Before Din can stop him, the child has grabbed it from the air and slurped it down, smacking his lips and humming in delight. 

"I'll pay for it," Din snaps, before the petseller can raise a fuss about the missing tentacle thing or the way the child had attained it. "What was that? Does it have venom?" The baby is craning his neck to see into the tank, and Din scoops him up and stuffs him under his cloak, ignoring his indignant squeak.

"Just a Nabooian tentapus," the petseller says. "Nontoxic. But expensive to import!" 

They can't afford the attention that arguing would draw, so Din tosses the shopkeep as many credits as he can spare and hurries away. Under his cloak, the kid screeches in protest. 

"I know, kid. We'll see if we can find some frogs outside the ship." 

The kid continues to grumble until they're within sight of the Razor Crest and Din relaxes enough to let him down to wander on his own. The suns are setting, and he's pretty sure the noises starting up from the underbrush are insects and probably also frogs. He unloads the food into the larder and empties out one of the fruit crates to use as a holding cell for any frogs they manage to catch. The little one watches him skeptically as he sets the crate down and assumes a stalking stance. 

Din had thought he might need to help the child flush out his quarry, but he finds his first one on his own, pouncing on it and swallowing it in one gulp, before Din can even tell him to hand it over for a quick scan to make sure it's not toxic. Hopefully the kid can tell what's food and what isn't. 

He catches a second frog and clutches it to his chest, making insistent noises at Din until he comes over and kneels down to take a look. "Something wrong with this one, kid? You full?"

The kid coos and offers the frog to Din, waving it in his face. "Yeah, I see it. You don't have to eat it if you're full." 

"Ehh!" the child says, clearly frustrated, and smacks the frog against the visor of Din's helmet. It leaves a smear of slime.

"Cut that out," Din says sternly, and the kid's ears droop. Shit. 

"Ehhh," he says again, holding out the frog with a pleading look on his face. 

"You can eat it, _ad'ika_. Or not. Don't eat it if it's poisonous." 

The kid blinks at him then--clearly frustrated--grabs Din's hand, stuffs the frog into it, and shoves it towards his face. Oh.

"Thanks, but I'm not hungry," Din says. The kid's lip wobbles and he gives the frog another plaintive shake and whacks Din in the helmet with it again. "Okay, okay, give it here." 

The kid hands it over, beaming. Din holds the frog up to his faceplate and makes munching noises, pretending to eat it. The kid claps and trills with joy. 

"Delicious," Din says seriously. "But I'm full. You finish it off for me, okay?" He passes the intact frog back to the kid, who gulps it down without suspicion. Din can't believe that worked. 

The little one waddles around for a while longer, but he's apparently full and doesn't try to catch any more frogs. Instead, he finds a large frilled leaf that he gives to Din to hold, a shiny rock that he tries to put in his mouth before Din takes it to hold with the leaf, and some kind of flying bug that startles him and makes him fall backwards when he disturbs it with a curious poke. Din swallows down a laugh at the indignant noise the child makes. 

"Okay, kid, bedtime," Din calls, when the suns have fully set. "Let's get you cleaned up." 

The child considers this, and apparently finds himself in agreement, toddling back to Din and holding up his arms to be lifted. He yawns as he snuggles into the curve of Din's arm to be carried back aboard the ship. 

"Me too, kid," Din says. "We've had a long day, eh?" The child squeaks as though in agreement, and Din pats his head fondly. A long day, but a good one. He finds himself looking forward to the next day, and the next, and all the new experiences he and the child will share.

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